


Our Love is a Song

by akaparalian



Series: From Tumblr [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Promptfic, anon request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-13
Updated: 2013-03-13
Packaged: 2017-12-05 08:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/721101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time it happens, he barely even notices; it just shows up one day, on the door to his rooms (practically a wing, really; not that he’s not grateful, but Avengers Tower is just too damn big sometimes), between him leaving in the morning and coming back after lunch to get something, forgotten as he puzzles over the little scrap of pink paper, from his room.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Love is a Song

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by anon: "tony can't find the words to tell steave he loves him so instead he woo's him trough a series of sticky notes covered in song lyrics!" Originally posted on my Tumblr.

The first time it happens, he barely even notices; it just shows up one day, on the door to his rooms (practically a wing, really; not that he’s not grateful, but Avengers Tower is just _too damn big_ sometimes), between him leaving in the morning and coming back after lunch to get something, forgotten as he puzzles over the little scrap of pink paper, from his room.

“I love all the things you do, show me the way to… bed?” Steve reads, brow furrowed, a bit surprised by the last word. Under the works, in the same black Sharpie, is “Feeling This - Blink-182”. He’s never heard of Blink-182, but then again, he hasn’t really had much time to sit down and catch up on every last band that’s debuted since the 40s, what with the whole saving-the-world thing.

He carefully takes it off the door, carefully doesn’t mention it to the rest of the team, and carefully lets it slip to the back of his mind- until, that is, the next one shows up, two days later, this one appearing sometime in the night; he finds it on his door in the morning. Just like the last one, the handwriting is carefully neutral, not giving any hints as to the writer, and just like the last one, it’s a… love song.

“I have the sketchy past, yet I have shed my wings,” it reads, then some ellipses, and then “if I’m [your] fall from grace, then [you’re] my christening,” the lyrics obviously altered. This one is captioned “So Good - Say Anything”. Steve spends about a solid minute staring at it, trying to decipher just what the hell is going on, before he shakes his head and carefully takes this one down, too. (If there’s a bit of an extra bounce to his step, certainly no one calls him on it.)

The third one arrives less than a day later, that same evening; the handwriting’s not quite as careful, as though the mystery author is getting impatient, growing a bit less cautious. “And I know that it’s so cliche to talk about you this way, but I’ll push all my inhibitions aside. Must Have Done Something Right - Relient K.” Steve’s not going to admit it, but he can feel himself blushing, just a little. He decides, right then, that he’s going to do something about this, because- well, anyway, he half-suspects it’s just some prank, nut there’s a chance… no, it’s not the right kind of music, he’d pick something different. Well, regardless, he’s got a right to know, doesn’t he?

It takes him almost ten minutes to track down some sticky notes of his own, but he finally does, and he quickly writes, in his own, slightly stiff handwriting, the only thing he can think of: “Who are you?” He quickly sticks it on his door, then hurries away, almost forgetting to take down the old one. It’s not… shameful, or anything, but he can’t help feeling nervous, jittery. He distracts himself with work, with training, with chatting with Bruce in the kitchen when he stops in to make a sandwich or three (he’s a supersoldier, it’s not _his_ fault he eats like a bear storing for winter).

He very carefully _walks_ , does not run, to his rooms- well, really, to his door- as soon as he thinks it’s reasonable that this mystery person might have come by and checked.

He stops before he even gets up close, grinning ear to ear; there’s a whole line of sticky notes, thick black Sharpie scrawled across them in a rather familiar jot. “Yes,” he breathes, and he’s not only grinning as he makes a beeline toward the labs, because it’s Tony, where else is he going to be at eleven o’clock at night, he’s also humming, because he _has_ heard that song and, really, it’s good.

One sticky note falls to the ground in his wake, slightly marring the large “I AM IRON MAN - BLACK SABBATH” scrawled like a claim across Steve’s door.


End file.
